


Personnel File Defragmentation: Success

by aliatori



Series: ./hello.Starsystem-Eos [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Angst, Bar Room Brawl, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mutual Pining, Video & Computer Games, honestly just a whole lot of Gladnyx
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-07-15 03:47:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16054907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori/pseuds/aliatori
Summary: A series of ficlets set in the universe ofArtificial.Ratings vary by chapter.





	1. First Time's The Hardest

Gladio sits crouched on metal crate in the cargo bay of the _L.S.S. Solas Gladius_ , listening to the hum of the engines reverberate through the room. The pervasive buzz drowns out his thoughts, lets him free up some space inside his cramped and aching chest. He’s 20, and he’s watched a friend die in front of him, so thinking’s no good at the moment. An abdominal wound, the brutal kind where no amount of hands or pressure can keep the slick ruby insides from spilling outside—

Nope. No more thinking.

He’s so wrapped up in nothing that he barely registers the voice speaking to him.

“First time’s always the hardest.”

Gladio looks up to see Nyx standing a few feet away, regarding Gladio with his careful cerulean gaze.

“You sayin’ it gets easier?” Gladio asks. The raw and ragged edge to his voice suggests tears, but his face is dry now.

“Fuck, Gladio, I wouldn’t go that far.” Nyx perches beside Gladio on the massive crate in that casual way of his. His complete disregard for Gladio’s personal space has never bothered him. Honestly, right now, it comforts him. “Maybe I’m jaded, maybe I’m not the best person to ask. I was, what, 16 shitting years old when the Niffs burned my sister and the rest of Galahd alive.”

“Fucking Empire. Fucking war,” Gladio half says, half growls.

“Damn straight. You make sure that’s my Graveyard inscription when I finally manage to get myself killed, deal?” Nyx asks with a sardonic smile.

Gladio turns to Nyx, the ache in his chest pulling him apart. “Don’t fucking joke with me, Ulric. Not tonight.” Gladio knows its against protocol, but he just wants to feel alive for half a damn second, to feel the warmth of someone’s skin against his own; he leans down and slings an arm around Nyx’s shoulder, presses their foreheads together.

He doesn’t know who closes the gap between their lips—if they were sparring, the match would be called a draw—but their mouths crush together all the same. Gladio thinks of nothing for several minutes but the clean heat of Nyx’s tongue, of Nyx’s breath ghosting against his skin, of the pulse that beats as fierce and heavy as his own.

They draw apart. They don’t talk about it. They never do.

“C’mon. Because I’m the best squadmate ever, I saved you real food from mess hall so you’re not stuck eating dehydrated shit from a packet. And don’t argue with me about eating. Starving yourself won’t bring back the dead.”

“Wasn’t gonna argue,” Gladio says, following Nyx out of the cargo bay to rejoin the living.


	2. Sucker Punch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyx and Gladio's first kiss involves a fight. Of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set prior to the events of Artificial.

The first time Nyx kissed Gladio was preceded by a fight, of fucking course.

They’d landed back on Lucis after a grueling assignment to destroy one of the mobile outposts the Niffs liked to establish on Coalition controlled planets. Once they’d returned home, they crashed for anywhere from six hours (Nyx) to fifteen (Gladio), and reconvened to celebrate the fact they’d all made it back from their mission intact. More or less—Pelna had temporarily lost a couple of fingers, but they were back in working order now.

Gladio and the rest of his new unit filed into one of the seediest bars in Insomnia’s entertainment district. Nyx explained during their lower sky tram ride that it was cheaper, they were less likely to run into anyone who cared about proper military conduct, and hell, what was life without a little risk?

New to the unit or not, Gladio wasn’t new to Nyx, and he should have known better.

“Fuckin’ immigrants are like an infestation. Rats, all of them. Better if they all got sent to the frontlines to die if you ask me.”

The bar they were drinking at couldn’t afford hoverstools, so Gladio was currently perched on a plain stool at the edge of neon-lined bar. His head snapped over to the source of the comment, a slightly overweight, middle-aged man nursing an amber beer, staring into its dissipating foam after he spoke.

Nyx wore a look as cold as the Glacian the Galahdians still worshiped.

“Sorry,” Gladio began, “but I didn’t catch that?”

“Wasn’t talkin’ to you,” the man muttered, turning back to the woman he appeared to be drinking with him.

“Maybe you weren’t talking to me…” Gladio said, shifting his weight so he was facing the man on his barstool, “But I coulda sworn I heard you say somethin’ about immigrants.”

“None of your business, fuckhead. What are you, some sympathizer? Fuck off.”

The thing about Gladio’s temper was that it had a way of surging up when he least expected it. Nyx met Gladio’s eyes over the man’s shoulders; Nyx tilted his head, one eyebrow lifted in a silent question. He saw the echo of his own anger in Nyx’s cerulean gaze, but unlike Gladio, Nyx appeared to have his emotions in check.

Not so much the case for Gladio. His fist connected with the other man’s jaw before he realized he’d thrown the punch, hard and fast. Gladio watched as the man toppled from his stool with a meaty thump, his limbs sprawled at awkward angles on the bar’s grimy floor. Adrenaline negated the sting in his hand from the impact.

Nyx rose from his own seat with a roll of his shoulders and a half-cocked grin. “Guess we’re doing this.”

Crowe, Lib, Nyx, and Gladio each dove into the fistfight with equal enthusiasm. Patrons scattered, stools fell, and glasses shattered as everyone sought out an opponent. Lib ended up with a woman in a headlock, Crowe was tangled with a man on the floor, Nyx warped to handle three of the man’s friends at the same time, and Gladio squared off with the man he’d knocked off the barstool with his initial punch.

“You’re holdin’ back, _rat lover_ ,” the man growled at him, arms extended forward in a grappling position, fingers spread.

“Not anymore,” Gladio said. Anger surged in him, fierce and uncontrollable, as he laid into his opponent. A series of well-executed blows to the man’s face, chest, and stomach ended with him sprawled on the ground, groaning and clutching his abdomen.

“I’m gonna…” the man said with a groan, spitting a mixture of blood and saliva at Gladio’s feet, “gonna call security. You’ll regret laying a hand on me, rat.”

Gladio crossed the distance with two steps and hauled the brunette up by the collar of his shirt. “Oh yeah?” Gladio asked as the man dangled from his grip, toes brushing the floor. “How you gonna call security if I knock your sorry ass out?”

“Amicitia, let’s go. These shitheads aren’t worth our time.”

It was Nyx’s voice that snapped him out of the haze of his temper, drew him out of the full force of the 18 years behind his anger, the knowledge of their recent mission hovering in the back of his mind.

They left the bar in a hurry. A promised thunderstorm had overtaken the Insomnian streets as the unit split up in different directions to avoid pursuit. Wet, humid heat made Gladio’s tank cling to his chest, the rain drenching his clothing, the roar of thunder distant beyond the din of the city. He and Nyx chose the same direction and wove between the city streets, ducking through small alleyways and back out onto larger side passages, shuttles whirring too close for comfort overhead.

Nyx motioned them to stop once they’d put a decent amount of distance between themselves and the bar. He stared at Gladio with a fierce expression, his unbound hair clinging to his shoulders, braids plastered to the sides of his head.

“You don’t need to defend my honor, yeah?” Nyx said, stepping closer to Gladio until his back was against the smooth, metal wall of a nearby building.

“Wasn’t defending your honor. He was an asshole,” Gladio muttered. He looked at anything but Nyx—the rain slicked every surface of the city, neon light refracting from each visible surface, the iridescent shimmer enough to dazzle.

“Let me get myself into trouble. You’ve got a better future ahead of you than I do. Don’t wanna ruin it by letting you beat the hell out of some prejudiced dickhead,” Nyx shot back.

“You’re my friend, and I’m a grown ass man. Maybe you should let me decide what trouble I wanna get myself into,” Gladio rumbled.

Nyx drew his lower lip between his teeth. Gladio had an instant to react before Nyx grabbed the back of his neck and yanked him down into a kiss. Shock washed away the remnants of Gladio’s anger as Nyx pressed his mouth to Gladio’s harder. He licked into Gladio’s mouth, his tongue wet and slick like the slide of their skin against one another. Gladio grabbed two fistfuls of Nyx’s soaked tee and found his body hot underneath the thin layer of fabric.

Nyx drove Gladio back against the wall of the nearby building with a heavy thud. Gladio had thought about some version of this scenario, of course, but he would have never dared to make a move on his superior officer. Unless his superior officer made the first move. Which he was most definitely doing, tongue hot against Gladio’s own, body mashed against Gladio’s in a sticky line. Fuck, Nyx felt good, as good as Gladio had ever imagined during all the mind-numbing Academy lessons he couldn’t focus on, so good he could barely believe this was actually happening.

When Nyx pulled away, challenge blazed in his blue eyes. “I oughta deck you for that bullshit you started back at the bar, but consider that a ‘thank you.’ Let’s call a shuttle and get the fuck out of here, yeah?”

“Whatever you say.”

Nyx ducked under an awning to call them a shuttle that would take them back to the barracks. If he sat a little closer to Gladio than he might otherwise, and if Gladio didn’t push him away…

Who could blame him?


	3. Poker Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio's ego and Nyx's subterfuge collide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set prior to the events of Artificial.

“Looks like it’s down to Ulric and Amicitia now.”

Pelna manages to only sound a little put out at the prospect. He slides his last credit chit over to Nyx, who places it at the top of his pile with a crooked grin. Gladio knows that grin—it’s a grin that means Nyx is out for blood. Or in this case, victory. Maybe both.

“Because I’m a generous and giving individual, I’ll let you concede defeat now. Just hand over your stack and we can forget this game ever happened, yeah?” Nyx says, tucking his braid behind his ear as he leans back in his chair.

“Fuck that. I’ve kept up with you this long. Pretty sure I’ve got a fighting chance,” Gladio says.

Crowe cackles from her spot against the wall of the ‘lounge’ — which in this case is really more of a refurbished supply closet. “Famous last words.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Crowe,” Gladio mutters.

“He ain’t that bad. No one I teach Core Swap to is,” Libertus adds from beside Nyx. Gladio could mention that Lib was the first out tonight, but he chooses not to.

“Last chance before I rob you blind, Amicitia,” Nyx says.

“I’d like to see you try,” Gladio shoots back.

In hindsight, challenging a native Galahdian at their own game—at their own favourite game—was a mistake. Nyx cleans him out so fucking fast that Gladio’s almost convinced he’s cheating. Either way, he ends up creditless within the span of four rounds, which he minds far less than the smug expression on Nyx’s face.

“You know, Amicitia, I just had a great idea,” Nyx says.

“Here we go,” Pelna groans with an eyeroll.

Gladio narrows his eyes. “What idea?”

“Sudden death round. One round. If you win, you can take the whole credit stack and I’ll treat you to a night of drinks next time we’re on shore leave,” Nyx says with a grin.

It’s too good to be true. “And if I lose?” Gladio asks.

“You strip and have to make it back to your quarters stark ass naked without Drautos seeing. Oh, and I keep your credits.”

Crowe blows air through her lips. “Someone’s horny,” she says, earning her a jab to the thigh from Nyx.

“Deal,” Gladio says, because he might be an idiot, but he’s not a coward.

* * *

Gladio has one thought as he sneaks through the armory to the personnel quarters with frigid recycled air tickling his balls: he’s definitely an idiot.

* * *

Later on in the evening, once he’s stitched together his dignity, an electronic chime sounds.

“If that’s you, Ulric, go the fuck away,” Gladio yells from his position on the bottom bunk.

Nyx chooses to use the intercom. “Aww, c’mon, scarface. I’m here to make it up to you.”

Gladio debates for several seconds before setting his comm aside. No shitting real books on this cruiser, no sir, only digital mess that hurts his eyes to read. He unfolds himself from the bunk and presses the panel that opens the door.

Nyx steps into the room and the doors close behind him. He’s changed to one of the standard off-duty uniforms, a plain black jumpsuit with silver stitching, which doesn’t look as awful as it should on him. His damp, braided hair means he probably just got out of the shower and there’s an unreadable expression in his grey-blue eyes.

“Yeah?” Gladio asks.

Nyx takes a step towards him, and fuck, the meaning of his half-lidded eyes dawns on Gladio. He has about six nanoseconds for that meaning to sink in before Nyx’s hands are in his hair and pulling out his bun, his mouth a breath away from Gladio’s.

He should have fucking known, and he should stop this now, but he isn’t going to. It’s been months of travel in endless black full of dangerous missions with shore leaves far and few between. Gladio’s reaching the point of ‘desperate for human contact’ where his own hand ain’t cutting it anymore.

“Nyx, Pelna’s gonna be back in ten standard or less. He’s probably still traumatized from the last time he found us,” Gladio rumbles, but he’s running his hands down Nyx’s back to cup his ass anyway.

“I took care of Pelna already,” Nyx purrs, “so we have at least thirty standard. Maybe more.” He gives a pleased hum as he gets Gladio’s hair free.

“Please tell me you didn’t stuff Pelna in a crate in the cargo bay so you could get off,” Gladio says, groaning as Nyx gives his hair a light tug.

“If I did, it would have been so we could get off, yeah?” Nyx says with with a grin. Gladio must look a little horrified, because he quickly adds, “I didn’t, I didn’t! Relax, G.”

“I’m still pissed at you, by the way,” Gladio says before bending down and crushing his lips to Nyx’s.

Gladio’s half convinced they wouldn’t tear each other’s clothes off at every convenient opportunity if Nyx wasn’t such a damn good kisser. He slides his tongue into Gladio’s mouth like it belongs there, clean heat with a hint of star anise from that shitting liquor him and Lib snuck aboard. Gladio adjusts his grip on Nyx’s ass and pulls him closer, grinding his hips against the hard muscle of Nyx’s body. He groans into the kiss when Nyx does some rolling sweep of tongue inside Gladio’s mouth that goes straight to his dick.

“I bet you won’t be pissed if you let me suck you off,” Nyx breathes as they come up for air.

The way Gladio’s cock twitches in his sweats suggests Nyx ain’t wrong.

“Why do I feel like that’s more a reward for you than me?” Gladio asks. Nyx slides his hands from Gladio’s hair and leans back, cocking an eyebrow.

“Shitting Astrals, I think I’ve been too nice to you. That’s some kind of ego.”

“You know you like it,” Gladio growls, bucking his hips against Nyx.

“May the Six watch over me, I fucking do, so help me,” Nyx says before licking into Gladio’s mouth again, his hands braced flat on Gladio’s pecs.

“We’re not trying to squeeze both our asses in one of these bunks again. I had a fucking crick in my neck for a week last time. Couldn’t turn my god damn head all the way in my armor,” Gladio says, sliding his hands around Nyx’s hips so that he can reach his dick. He’s pleased and turned on as all hell when he feels Nyx’s cock hard underneath his palm. He’s even more turned on when Nyx cuts off a gasp by drawing his lower lip between his teeth.

“Then you better find something to brace yourself on, Amicitia,” Nyx says, “‘Cause I’m about to have you screaming my name.”

Gladio snorts. “That line usually work for you, Ulric?”

“Asshole. See for yourself.” Nyx’s pupils are blown wide and his lips a touch swollen as he pushes Gladio backwards, coming to a stop once his back is against the wall.

Gladio grunts as Nyx tugs his sweats and underwear down his hips, his cock bobbing a couple times before falling still. Nyx sinks down to his knees in the same way that he kisses, like he fucking belongs there, his lips resting against the head of Gladio’s dick. He looks up at Gladio as he runs the flat of his tongue along his frenulum, eyes dark, and the heat in Gladio’s groin flares to life.

He’d give Nyx shit about being desperate, but the truth is that his mind goes blank at the edges as soon as Nyx takes him in his mouth. The warm, wet pressure of his tongue on Gladio’s dick feels so fucking good that he can’t bite back a moan, tipping his head back and leaning hard against the wall. Nyx curls a fist around the base of Gladio’s cock and uses it to stroke what his mouth doesn’t reach.

It gets messy fast, but Gladio doesn’t give a shit. He has one hand tangled in Nyx’s hair and the other hand on the wall. Gladio vaguely hears himself panting as that coil of heat in his belly winds tighter and tighter—he might be chanting Nyx’s name in between breaths, and something in his rational brain says Nyx is never gonna let him live that bit down.

When Nyx takes his hand off Gladio’s cock and manages to get the entire length of him down his throat, there’s no more holding back. He comes, hard. Gladio’s back arches off the wall as he comes, abs twitching, his pleasure scorching through every nerve in his body. Nyx holds him in place until he finishes, his fingers digging into the meat of Gladio’s trembling thighs.

Nyx’s cheeks are flushed as he lets Gladio’s cock slip from mouth and stands. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand and gives Gladio a searching look.

“Well, it wasn’t screaming, but you said my name so many times that I’d say it counts, yeah?” Nyx asks. 

Gladio bends down to pull up his sweats. “Now who’s the asshole?”

“Both of us, I guess,” Nyx says with a laugh. He reaches over and pats Gladio on the shoulder before practically waltzing out of Gladio’s quarters.

“Shitting Astrals,” Gladio says to the empty room.


	4. Too Slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio comes to Nyx for extra, late night training.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set prior to the events of Artificial.

Nyx isn’t sure why he keeps obliging Amicitia when he asks for extra training—especially when the sky’s pitch black beyond the prismatic shimmer of the Planetary Defense Shield—but he does.

Okay, he might be bullshitting himself a little. He’s sure of two reasons. The first is that he wants this kid in his unit. No, Drautos’s unit, he corrects with a grimace. Amicitia’s about to be assigned, and despite his dad being one of the King-Elect’s personal bodyguards, he’s going through the bureaucratic grinder same as the rest of the cannon fodder at the Academy.

The second reason, well…

“Too slow, Amicitia!” Nyx taunts. Because he knows it’ll piss the kid off, he phases right behind him, flicking him on the ear before Amicitia even knows Nyx is behind him.

Nyx tries to ignore the building, burning itch at the back of his skull where his warp module is implanted; training can be done with a handheld version, but when you spend as much time in fucking particles as Nyx does, a more permanent solution is required.

He does a better job ignoring the blaze in his head than the one in Amicitia’s amber eyes, unadulterated whiskey heat pouring over Nyx like flame. Nyx likes the kid, likes his barely disguised lust almost as much, but he won’t press the issue further.

Nyx has been incinerated by desire—reduced to ash—in the past, too many times to risk committing their fledgling friendship to the inferno.

That doesn’t mean he can’t have a bit of fun.

He lets Amicitia get a few hits in, delivers a few in return. He warps around the sky deck a little to make it more convincing. He knows Amicitia’s anger will pique, that he’ll go for the grapple, and Nyx allows himself be subdued.

Amicitia’s bulk and weight sets an entirely different part of him ablaze. Nyx can sense the eagerness in the way Amicitia jerks his hands behind his back, taste the craving on his breaths that come hot and heavy in the night air. He lets himself enjoy it for several seconds longer than he should, because fuck, he deserves a reward.

Then Nyx warps out of Amicitia’s grip, fixes him with a smirk, adjusts the silver antlers on his uniform hood.

“You’re gonna have to do better than that.” 


	5. Rank and File

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio and Nyx adjust to his new rank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after the events of Promotion, prior to the events of Artificial.

Gladio isn’t expecting company, but that doesn’t stop the doors of his quarters from sliding open.

A long, low whistle sounds from behind Gladio, drawing his attention away from the three dimensional projection he’s using as a makeshift mirror.

“Damn. Our beloved Coalition sprang for a full set of fluxplate for its newest Lieutenant? What is that, the 800 series?” Nyx’s question holds a teasing lilt.

“900, actually,” Gladio corrects, shifting his weight from foot to foot and testing the balance of it. The armor’s motors whir, soft and sibilant, making his movements easy and fluid. He’d need to be augmented to wear it without any propulsion assistance, and since augments are a fuckton more expensive than a suit of armor…

“Shitting Astrals. It’s almost like they want you to make it back alive or something,” Nyx quips. He moves to stand in front of Gladio, pokes a gloved hand through hologram copy of Gladio, and wiggles his fingers. “Gotcha,” he says, grinning at Gladio with mischief glittering in his eyes.

“You wish it were that shitting easy,” Gladio snorts. “Do that in the sparring ring for real I’d be impressed.”

“You’d like it if I ever got that close, LT. I may be a fuckin’ son of a bitch, but I’m not a stupid one, yeah?” Nyx’s grin falters for a split second, like interference in a vidfeed, before twitching back to life. “It looks good on you.”

A month has passed since his promotion to LT of his own Glaive Spec Ops unit. Coincidentally, it’s also been a month since he and Nyx fell into bed together; despite very thorough efforts to forget that fact, up to and including two random hookups in three days of shore leave between inner-system missions, aftershocks of memory tremor through Gladio each time Nyx comes near. They’re especially strong as Nyx gives him a thorough once over now. His blue-grey eyes are unreadable, but he’s chewing on the end of his braid, which means the wheels are turning.

“Thanks,” Gladio says. If he says more, if he moves a centimetre in Nyx’s direction, he worries his self-control will fail him. “Did you need something, Ulric?”

“Uh, yeah, I did,” Nyx stammers. It’s not like him to be caught off guard. He recovers quickly though—he always does. “First, can you requisition me one of those?” he asks, pointing at the black and silver armor Gladio wears.

“What, so you could sell it offworld? Or keep it in your quarters?” Gladio rolls his eyes and turns off the projection, satisfied with the fit of armor. “Wasn’t it you who told me ‘armor is for soldiers slow enough to get hit’?”

Nyx laughs, but the edges of the sound are bitter and acrid. “Busting out old Academy quotes on me? Better save some of those for when you really need to establish your authority.”

“If I need to take you down a notch a month in, I sure as fuck don’t want to know what the next year holds,” Gladio deadpans.

“I, for one, can’t wait to find out. I’m sure it’s full of Niff assholes trying to explode important shit or shoot holes in us,” Nyx says. He runs the end of his braid between his lips a couple more times before continuing. “Pelna was the one who needed you, actually. He’s whining about some pre-flight authorization code he needs to run a systems check, and I said I’d come get you.”

“You could have led with that, you know?” Gladio asks. He thinks about taking the armor off but decides against it. Better to get used to moving in the new tech. “Come on. I’m not leaving your ass alone in here to fuck with my shit.”

“Me? Never,” Nyx says, bringing a hand to his chest in mock offense. When Gladio doesn’t budge, he laughs and exits the room.

At least, Gladio thinks as he follows Nyx, there’s an interplanetary war going on to keep him focused.

To help him forget what he can’t have.


	6. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyx has his fair share of nightmares, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after chapter 3 of Artificial.

While Gladio dreams of broken children and shrieking death orbs and the infinite sorrow of being dead-alive, Nyx dreams of Galahd.

Nyx’s subconscious inspires terror in him through juxtaposition, through the comparison of the best and worst events in his sorry excuse for a life. He dreams of his mother’s laughter as he and his sister dive off the edge of their island, plummeting towards the limitless azure oceans that cover Galahd, beamed back to safety by the emergency teleporter net below. Fire and chaos await them as they rematerialize on the surface; it burns, everything burns—his skin, his nerves, his past, his present, and most of his future.

(The spreading blood stain on his mother’s sapphire dress reminds him of rose petals floating on the sea. He sees the image enough in his sleep to wax poetic about it in his waking hours).

He dreams of the teeth chattering cold on a Lucian cruiser, him and Crowe and Lib huddled together for warmth and comfort alike, plucked like scurrying rats from the surface by the Coalition. He recalls bitterness thick enough to choke on, a bitterness that sustains him for countless dawns and dusks to come. Sometimes his brain inserts Gladio in this scene, though it’s years until they actually meet, because it feels like he belongs there. It always has.

Gladio has a way of getting tangled up in everything, Nyx supposes, and his dreams are no exception.

(Tangled in his life, tangled in his limbs, tangled in his pulse, tangled in his thoughts, tangled in his mess.)

His conscious and subconscious agree on one thing: they have no idea how to factor Gladio into the nightmare equation to greatest effect. Sleeping Nyx’s horrors are simple. He runs from Gladio and the Widowmaker, over and over, so panicked that his warp module refuses to obey his commands; then, Nyx looks over his shoulder after the explosion and can’t look away, can’t tear his eyes from the pile of gore that was his best friend, until he wakes screaming so loud his throat goes raw.

Waking Nyx’s preoccupations don’t integrate as well. He dreams that there never was a war, that he and Gladio met on Galahd and lived normal lives and maybe fell in love, because love is nice and war’s a shitty substitute for it. Better yet, he dreams they never met at all, that he died with his mother and sister on Galahd, that the Niffs had thrown him off the island with the emergency teleporters disabled like they did so many others so he could drown in salt water instead of guilt.

(He dreams of that fucking stupid kiss at the hospital, over and over, until he’s ready to lobotomize himself to make it stop.)

He dreams of a world where he doesn’t have to be brave every waking moment of every single day. In that world, maybe he’d have enough bravery left over to risk the last piece of his heart on Gladio. The military regulations make a convenient scapegoat for Nyx’s cowardice, but not enough to help him sleep at night.

The only thing that doesn’t change from nightmare to nightmare is that Nyx wakes up alone. He checks his comm for messages from a friend (just a friend, _just a friend_ ) who should be dead, and rolls over, and prays to the Astrals to let him feel nothing at all.


	7. Virtual Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto and Noctis snag a little VR gaming time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime during the events of Artificial.

_[Neurolink connection successful!_   
_Uploading character profile: Nightshade to Castlemark main server hub…_   
_Please wait…]_

“You ready to kick some ass?” Prompto asked from the chair opposite Noctis, flashing a smile bracketed by two gleaming lip rings. “We’re up against the Gamma Nexus in duos today, and if anyone deserves to get ground into pixelated dust by us, it’s those guys.”

Noctis gave a quiet chuckle, his gaze sweeping over the bridge of the Regalia one final time, the colours distorted by the archaic VR interface strapped to his head. “You’re just annoyed Syntaxali got the drop on you last time and took you out of the match in the first wave.”

_[Character profile: Nightshade uploaded successfully!_   
_Preparing physioneural transfer calibration…_   
_Please wait…]_

“Faked me out? It was borderline hacking is what it was, which makes sense, ‘cause there’s no legit way anyone gets the drop on Prompto Argentum,” Prompto said.

“Careful with the name. Specs might have set us up with the triple layer of security encryption on the QNC connection, but we still don’t know who’s listening,” Noctis explained. His skin began to tingle and itch all over as the physioneural connections took hold, accompanied by the faint burn of his neurolink deep in his skull.

_[Physioneural calibration complete!_   
_Immersion drop in 30 seconds…_   
_Please wait…]_

“Fine. There’s no legit way anyone gets the drop on Quicksilver,” Prompto corrected, laughing afterwards and settling back into his chair.

“Still can’t believe that’s the best handle you could come up with.”

“C’mon, dude—like Nightshade is any better!”

_[Immersion drop in 15 seconds…]_

“It is _so_ better. It’s cool. Mysterious.”

“If you say so, buddy. I’m not gonna be the one to shatter the illusion you’ve got going on. You can live in denial a little while longer, ‘cause I’m a good person and want you to be happy and all that static.”

_[Immersion drop in 5 seconds…]_

“I think you’re just mad there’s a big ol’ picture of my face in every Castlemark lobby right now,” Noctis teased, a small smile playing about his lips.

“ _Your_ face?” Prompto asked, incredulous.

Noctis didn’t have time to respond as the immersion drop took hold, blacking out all his senses for a handful of seconds as they loaded into the Castlemark servers. The first time he’d ever entered VR—a long distance training session with Cor several years back—the vertigo had been nearly unbearable, and he’d come out with a splitting headache. Now, Noctis rolled with the drop, counting the return of each of his senses as the process completed: sight, sound, touch, smell. He assumed he could taste too, but given that eating and drinking wasn’t exactly the point of logging into Castlemark for him, Noctis had never tried.

A single message flashed across his internal HUD. _Welcome to Castlemark - Andromeda Server - Divinia Nox Lobby. May victory be yours!_

Synthetic bass pumped through the speakers of lounge area. This particular track was one of Noctis’ favourites, one that he often played internally during their matches, deep and heavy and electric. A swathe of avatars was clustered in the lobby, both at the neon pink central bar and on the mini dance floor off to the side. Several drifted towards the row of transporters on the opposite side of the darkened lounge, using the equipment to load into their respective matches.

“Well…” Noctis said, his voice a light soprano instead of its normal tenor, “Nightshade’s face, anyway.”

Prompto—who carried over most his real life appearance into VR, with the exception of a mask that covered his face and displayed emojis instead—tilted his head. A bright green ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) appeared on the shiny black surface of the mask. “It looks like they changed the picture up to go for a different angle with the whole marketing gig, y’know. Whaddya think?”

Noctis tapped the translucent, external welcome screen that had popped up in front of him several times, winking it out of existence. Tilting his head up, his mouth fell open as he locked eyes on the new sign Prompto mentioned. He was still featured—or rather, his avatar was. Nightshade stood in profile, undercut blue-black hair falling into her face and hiding parts of it from view. On the other side was Prompto’s avatar, stupid emote mask and all, gripping Nightshade’s shoulder and looking down at her with a pink ( ♥ ͜ʖ ♥) on his face.

Bright, fluorescent lettering proclaimed a tagline to go along with the flickering image. ‘Castlemark’s number one rated duo team—partners, or something more?’

“Do they…” Noctis began, pausing to scan the room in disbelief, “are they trying to say we’re _dating_?”

Prompto laughed and waved a gloved hand dismissively, throwing an arm around Noctis’s shoulder. “Maybe. We could work with that. Might be pretty hilarious, though I gotta say, I didn’t expect this kind of notoriety.”

“Now you’re being dumb,” Noctis said, shoving Prompto’s arm away and grinning.

“Am I?” Prompto asked, a ( ͡°3 ͡°) lighting up in red on his mask. “I mean, I am quite the catch, offline and online. Brilliant engineer by day, elite saboteur by night. Nightshade would only be so lucky.”

Noctis snorted and rolled his eyes. His internal HUD said they had ten standard minutes until their scheduled match started. He ignored Prompto’s comment in favour of reading the latest patch notes instead, scrolling through item tweaks and map changes, when another series of messages displayed on his HUD.

> **Henruit** : you know if you have time to play games  
>  **Henruit:** you have time to train in VR  
>  **Henruit:** there’s lots of combat sims we could be running  
>  **Henruit:** stuff with real world benefit

“What’s up?” Prompto asked, a blue (^～^;)ゞ appearing on his mask.

“Just G—” Noctis started, cutting himself off when he remembered where they were, “Henruit being a buzzkill.”

“On a scale of one to Maximum Buzzkill, how much are we talking? You think we should disconnect? Live to fight another day?”

“Nah,” Noctis replied, running through the mental commands to close out of the dialog box on his internal HUD. “We’ve got a match to win. He can wait.”

“In that case,” Prompto said, jabbing Noctis in one slender shoulder, “good luck.”

“Won’t need it.”

“Never do.”


	8. Old Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyx has never felt so far away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after the events of chapter 13 of Artificial.

Nothing wakes Nyx up faster than the cheerful ringtone of his terminal, set to maximum volume and blaring out some synthpop song Nyx doesn’t know the title of.

He paws at his face as he staggers to his desk, tripping over one of his uniform boots on the way, sheets clinging to his ankles. Nyx squeezes his eyes open and shut, trying to focus enough to read the incoming comm information, but as soon as he can make out the avatar above the text, he slaps his palm on the terminal’s surface and swipes to answer.

A wisecrack dies on the tip of his tongue as soon as Gladio’s face crystallizes on the screen. He looks _rattled_ , his scowl wilting the petals of the gladiolus tattoo on his face, eyes distant, and it’s a look Nyx has seen from him exactly twice.

Both times were… disasters.

A cocktail of hormones burns away the remainder of his drowsiness as he sits in the hovering desk chair with a heavy thud.

“Scarface? You okay? Someone die on you already?” The joke rings hollow, but it’s better than acknowledging the dizzying desire to reach out and touch Gladio, to grab his shoulder, thump him on the back, anything to ease the discomfort written across his face.

“Yeah… no… I mean, yeah, I’m okay and no, no one fuckin’ died. Almost. Because of me.”

“Woah now,” Nyx says, and without conscious effort his tone goes soft, cautious, like he’s talking to a casualty coming off the high of what he and Gladio affectionately refer to as the Good Shit painkillers. “Back up a sec, LT. You’ve got a track record as long as my dick of heroic deeds, so I highly doubt you’re out there in the black murdering for no good reason, yeah?”

There’s a tiny twitch in Gladio’s lips on the vidfeed. “So… not very long, then?” The budding smile withers almost as quickly as it sprang to life. “I dunno, Nyx.”

Nyx. Not Ulric. Not any number of colourful swears Gladio enjoys using in place of his name. _Nyx_. The flicker of pleasure deep in Nyx’s chest, somewhere around where he shoved the welded pieces of his shattered heart, makes him feel like a selfish prick; it _doesn’t_ dilute the potency of his name from Gladio’s lips, even from Six know how many light years away.

Not in the slightest.

His eyes rove over Gladio’s face, scouring for any signs of damage, any clues, but all he finds is that same distress. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?” Nyx asks casually, like Gladio’s about to launch into a recounting of one of Iris’s defcon one level meltdowns instead of… whatever happened.

Shitting Astrals above, Gladio does start from the beginning. By the end, it’s Nyx’s who’s fighting to maintain his composure, jaw clenched tight.

“I feel so fuckin’ trapped. No one has my shitting back out here, and I’m stuck with this fuckin’ deathtrap of augments for a body, with a motherfucking Niff on board on top of that, and no one gives a goddamn single _fuck_!” A loud crunch follows the last expletive, garbled into static by the QCN connection.

“Easy there, G. Sounds like you already destroyed a span’s worth of Coalition equipment earlier,” Nyx says, and would you look at that, clearly he didn’t spend enough time fusing his heart back together, because it’s fracturing again. “ _Gladio_. Eyes on me, scarface, ‘cause I know your ass didn’t drag me out of bed when I’m on duty in two hours just to ignore me.” 

Gladio stares at him over the vidfeed, chest heaving, and it takes several eternities before he nods his confirmation. “Sorry. I just… I’m fucked.”

“What kind of defeatist bullshit is that?” Nyx scoffs, hating every syllable, because all he wants to do is be there, wherever Gladio is, not issuing tough love from what may as well be a universe away. “The LT I know doesn’t give up just because they put the prince and his two lapdogs on a ship with you. You’ll show ‘em what’s what, like you did me, like you do everyone.”

Lack of sleep must be distorting his senses, because Nyx would swear on his mother’s blood stained dress, folded neatly in his box of personal effects, that for a fraction of a second, Gladio looks as raw about all of this as Nyx feels.

“Guess you’re right.” It’s not perfect, but he’s calmer, and that’ll have to do.

“Fuck yeah I am,” Nyx declares. He leans closer to the vidfeed and raises an eyebrow. “You want my advice?”

“No.” There it is—a smile, tentative, but there.

“Too bad, ‘cause you’re getting it anyway. I can’t tell you what to do out there, ‘cause I have no shitting idea what you’re up to, but I do know…” Nyx wavers, his course veering dangerously close to shores he tries not to tred on. “You’ve got people in your corner. We’re rooting for you. Hell, the whole goddamn system is, whether they know it or not, yeah?” One final hesitation, and fuck it, he spits the last part out too. “And you’ve got me, so…”

“The universe’s biggest fuckface and me. What a team,” Gladio says with a chuckle. He meets Nyx’s gaze, a warm sincerity in amber eyes that feature all too often in Nyx’s dreams. “Thanks, Ulric.”

“My pleasure. Now go get some sleep, try not to break anymore shit, and leave me the fuck alone,” Nyx orders, giving a grin that almost reaches his eyes.

Gladio offers a mock salute on the other end of the vidfeed. “Will do.”

The comm disconnects.

Nyx slumps in his chair, unsure whether he’s going to scream, cry, break shit of his own, or a hellish combination of all of the above. He plants his elbows on the desk and digs the heels of his palms into his eyes until it hurts, breathing on counts of ten, until he’s fairly certain he won’t do _any_ of the above.

When he stands from his desk, Nyx reaches over and flips the digital photo of him and Gladio on the roof—Crowe, cunning minx, snuck back out to take it—face-down on the table.

Some things, no matter how nice and good and wholesome they are, still fucking hurt.


	9. Shiva's Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyx and Gladio share a peaceful moment under the stars amidst the chaos of war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [theorchardofbones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theorchardofbones/pseuds/theorchardofbones) sent me a writing prompt related to stargazing over on Tumblr, so naturally, I chose these two idiots. If you haven't checked out their work, please do!
> 
> Set loosely before the events of Promotion.

“On your starboard!”

Gladio’s warning afforded Nyx the nanoseconds he needed to phase out of reach from the wicked claws of a Banshee. His implant scorched a hole in his brain, dangerously close to overuse, but he simply pushed past it, ignoring the burn to phase strike right into the creatures chest, slitting its throat with a kukri before it had a chance to unleash its vile caterwauling.

“Thanks, scarface!” Nyx called.

Gladio barked a laugh, audible over the sounds of pulse rifle fire and the crackling charge of one of Crowe’s electric cocktails of pain. “Thank me by taking a few more of these fucks out, would ya?” A deep crimson wave of energy pulsed from Gladio’s sword, blazing through the night like a crescent of destruction.

Falling into formation with Gladio was as inevitable as a moon succumbing to the gravitational pull of its star, and Nyx orbited around him in a deadly axis, leaving nothing but blue-white afterimages and still corpses in his wake. They didn’t always get to engage on the field like this, just the two of them, but when they did, it felt like it evened the odds of this shithouse galactic war in their favour, if only for the length of the fight.

When the fighting stopped, when the adrenaline subsided, the scales tipped back, the far reaching resources of the Empire weighing heavy as death against them.

“These things are _Scourged!_ ” Pelna declared once the skirmish ended, kicking one of the Banshees with an armored foot.

Nyx watched as Gladio knelt beside the same corpse, armor whirring quietly as he lowered his body to the ground. When he peeled back the Banshee’s eyes, Nyx was met with two inky pools of black instead of vertical pupils in red irises.

“Yup. Not like we didn’t know from the ichor, but the shitting things are Scourged.” Gladio shook his head as he stood. “Empire keeps up like this, they won’t have a fuckin’ planet left that isn’t infected to rule.”

“Like they give a shit about that,” Crowe scoffed, brown curls frizzed from the lightning grenade.

“Enough chatter!” Drautos snapped. “Everyone to their standard posts and report for debriefing on the bridge in 60 standard.”

War was ugly, but nothing reminded Nyx more of that ugliness than the cleanup after battle. Burned corpses, counted casualties, scrubbing blood out of every crevice and orifice known to the galaxy… all just to do the same fucking thing again in another hour, another day, another week.

In another year, he’d be dead, a slave, or on the winning side. Nyx didn’t know which. Not yet.

He finished his perimeter check and helped Pelna with hostile disposal—two clean words for a dirty process—but didn’t re-board the _L.S.S. Solas Gladius_ immediately. For all the carnage, the air on Cleigne smelled fresh and pure; Nyx indulged in several silent minutes of deep breathing, crouched on an outcropping of rock that was typical of the landscape in this section of the planet. His gaze fell on the jagged obsidian ridge of the Ravtough Mountains in the distance, their peaks marbled with veins of magma, visible from an absurd number of kilometers away.

“Stargazing?”

Nyx tossed a grin over his shoulder. Gladio stood a meter away, stripped out of his armor and in standard issue Coalition fatigues, stupid man bun back in place. “Just enjoying some peace and quiet before Drautos reams us a new asshole for not setting up scout drones.”

“Not sure they would have helped much. Banshees being able to shapeshift puts a dent in using the drones.”

“Sure, but they still have heat signatures, yeah?” Nyx hopped off the rock and stretched, joints popping as he raised his arms above his head. “You need something, G?”

“Came to tell you the debriefing’s about to start.”

Nyx raised an eyebrow. “You could have commed me.” He tapped his earpiece for emphasis. “Still wearing the thing.”

“Yeah, I could have, but I like the personal touch.” Nyx didn’t need daylight to _see_ the swagger in the words, the confidence, the youthful enthusiasm the Empire had cut off of Nyx like a limb. As he spoke, Gladio stepped closer to Nyx, close enough that they stood side by side.

A smart-ass remark rested on the tip of Nyx’s tongue— _I bet you do like the personal touch, scarface_ —but when he flicked his eyes up towards the Cleigne sky, the retort vanished.

“I’ll be vexed,” Nyx murmured, his own voice distant, “it’s a godsdamned meteor shower.”

Streaks of white light coursed across the black sky, a few at first, then more, until countless trails appeared and vanished in the time it took Nyx to blink.

“Not a meteor shower,” Gladio said with a smug grin.

“You get popped in the head out there? Concussion? Sure as fuck looks like a meteor shower to me, yeah?”

“Just wait, Ulric.”

Nyx waited. And, after 47 seconds of waiting, according to the clock on his internal HUD, he swore under his breath. “Shitting Astrals.”

Each shooting star had begun to explode in prismatic bursts of colour, iridescent and beautiful, one point of light shattering into a hundred. In the space of a breath, the sky filled with luminous fragments, bathing Cleigne with light intense enough to rival that of Eos itself.

“I heard about this back at the Academy… Shiva’s Grace, they call it. Never thought I’d get a chance to see the goddamn thing for myself.” Gladio stared up at the sky, looking as enraptured as Nyx felt.

Nyx was torn between watching Gladio and watching the sky, a scarred portion of his heart stirring at Gladio’s joy. “You big fucking nerd. Only you, son of _the_ Clarus Amicitia, go to Lucis’ premier military academy and remember some meteor shower.”

Gladio snorted and turned towards Nyx, amber eyes sparkling like the atmosphere above them. “Hey, I needed to get top marks in all my classes, not just the ass kicking ones.”

The same pull from earlier tugged at Nyx with a different spin, a planet infinitesimally shifted on its axis, changing the course of the moons along its star. Gladio was his favourite regulation to break, Nyx thought as their mouths met, the once-in-a-century astrological phenomenon playing out above them. Gladio’s hands found the small of Nyx’s back, and Nyx dug his fingers into Gladio’s shoulders, and for an aching instant, he forgot about the mission ahead of them and the war around him.

“Thought you said we weren’t gonna do this anymore,” Gladio rumbled.

“Yeah, well…” Nyx started, hands braced on either side of Gladio’s neck, “it’s a special occasion.”

They kissed again, and again, and with each kiss, Nyx felt more and more like the universe was worth saving.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come find me over on [Tumblr](http://aliatori.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/AliatoriEra).


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